


Roger Davis – 12/20/1992

by callmechristinae



Series: Livejournal Migration [5]
Category: Rent - Larson
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-03
Updated: 2006-02-03
Packaged: 2017-12-26 21:33:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/970520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callmechristinae/pseuds/callmechristinae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roger Davis has an excuse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Roger Davis – 12/20/1992

  
Dr. Mueller sat back in her chair, finishing her paperwork from the past week that she had been putting off. With a smile, she pushed all the papers on her desk into her outgoing box. “Another trying week closer to retirement,” she thought, swinging her arms up and behind her head. She turned when she heard a clatter to her left, noticing that she had knocked one of her session recordings off her desk. She leaned over in her chair, careful not to fall out, and picked the tape up. It simple block lettering, it said “Roger Davis – 12/20/1992.” Smiling, she slipped it into her tape player and pressed play.

“Could you please state your name?”

“You already know my fuckin’ name.”

“Mr. Davis…”

“See.”

“Mr. Davis, it’s just for the tape…”

“Tape? What tape? Why do you need a fuckin’ tape?”

“It’s just my procedure Mr. Davis, now, please state your name.”

“Roger fuckin’ Davis.”

“Please…”

An echoing sigh could clearly be heard. “Roger Davis.”

“And why are you here Mr. Davis?”

“I don’t know why I’m here. I don’t need any fuckin’ therapy.”

“Mr. Davis, please. The faster we get through this the faster you can leave.”

“I got arrested at one of Maureen’s goddamn riots and the goddamn cops said I had fuckin’ anger management issues!”

“Well, do you think you have anger management issues?”

“Fuck no!”

“I must say that, thus far, I must agree with the arresting officer.”

“Well, I don’t!”

Dr. Mueller smiled as she heard her own exasperated sigh. “Then why did they feel the need to send you here?”

“I admit, I may have seemed a bit upset at the time…”

“It says here you assaulted several officers with a guitar case.”

“It was self defense.”

“Against the officers?”

“Well, it wasn’t really  _self_  defense…”

“Then why did attack the officers with a large leather case?”

“Well, I mean, the fight was getting out of hand and everybody was throwing punches this way and that way and Maureen’s not helping standing on stage jumping all over the place and the equipment was sparking and people were kicking everywhere and Collins got separated from us and then Benny just sends the cops on us while he, the yuppie scum, disappears to safety…”

“Is there a point Mr. Davis?”

“I was getting there. See, everybody was just beating on each other, so the cops started swinging around too and Mark and I were caught in the middle of everything and some guys started beating on him, so I starting swinging my case around, big deal…”

“And you felt the need to swing at the officers?”

“Well, I wasn’t really aiming at anyone in particular. I was just trying to get people to back away from Mark, you see?”

“And Mark is?”

“My friend.”

“Is that all?”

“We live together.”

“Oh.”

“Are you trying to imply something?”

“Is there something to imply about.”

“Well, uh…”

“Are you, possibly, more than friends?”

“What!?”

“Is your relationship with this…Mark…more than just friendship?”

“Not right now.”

“Was it ever in the past?”

“NO! No, no no.”

“Do you ever want it to be?”

“I don’t really see how that is any of your business.”

“I’m a therapist Mr. Davis, you’re in a therapy session, we need to discuss your life and the cause of any emotional issues for you.”

“Well, Mark and I, we’re close, you see?”

Dr. Mueller nodded as the tape fell into a silence, mimicking what she had done during the session.

“Yeah, well, never mind.”

“What’s wrong Mr. Davis? Do you fear that Mark doesn’t return your feelings?”

“Oh no, it’s not that at all. I mean, I know he feels the same way.”

“And how do you know this.”

“Well, he told me.”

“So, if he shares the same feelings, why aren’t you pursuing a relationship?”

“Um, well, uh, I mean, you see…”

“Take a deep breath.”

Roger’s sharp inhale could be heard through the tape. “I don’t want to do that to him.”

“Do what?”

“Hurt him.”

“Then don’t.”

“I’m not, we’ve gone over that already.”

“No, I mean you can love him without hurting him. Don’t you think you might be hurting him by doing what you’re doing?”

“What am I doing? I’m not doing anything.”

“Exactly. He told you he cares for you, true?”

“Yeah…”

“So, you live together, hang out together, and he knows that you know his feelings, yet you push him away. How do you think that makes him feel?”

“It’s better than the alternative.”

“Which is?”

“I don’t know.’

“Ok. So you’re afraid of becoming involved with someone you love, who loves you back, because you might in some way shape or form hurt them.”

“Exactly.”

“Have you ever been in a relationship Mr. Davis?”

“Yeah. Of course. I was the lead singer of a band called the  _Well Hungarians_  for godsakes.”

“I mean, a serious relationship. How did your two most recent serious romantic relationships go?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I’m a therapist Mr. Davis. I doubt there is much you could say that would phase me or think less of you.”

“Well, my last girlfriend, her name was Mimi. And, before her, was April.”

“I want to know more than their names Mr. Davis.”

“Yeah, I kinda figured you would. Um, Mimi…I don’t really know what happened. Everything was great, I mean, except for when we got in a fight and she got together with Benny and I went to Santa Fe. I came back though, of course she was missing for a while, but then we found her, and everything was great. But, I don’t know what happened. We just started fighting all the time about the dumbest shit.”

“Like what?”

“Everything, anything. One time we got in a fight because I fell asleep on the wrong side of the bed. I mean, c’mon, how stupid is that?”

“Perhaps she was upset that her stability had been upset.”

“Yeah, whatever. Well, we broke up. But, now we get along great. It’s the weirdest shit.”

“And April.”

“April. When April and I were together, we had…I mean, we loved each other. I think.”

“You think?”

“Yeah, I mean, most of the time we were high.”

“Oh.”

“And I mean high, like, as a kite. I remember, this one time, I was so out of it that I dragged Mark to this one club and we…”

“Mr. Davis, could we please get back on track?”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry. Well, when April and I were together, we found out that we were, um, you know.”

“HIV positive?”

“Yeah? How’d you know?”

“It says so in your medical file.”

“I have a medical file?”

“Now you do. It was filled out when you were arrested by a…‘Mr. Cohen.’”

“That’s Mark.”

“Ah. So, how did you an April react.”

“Well, she just told me about it in a note.”

“She ran away?”

“No, she, um, she slit her wrists in the bathroom.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Thanks. I didn’t find her though. I mean, I came home from a gig and Mark just…stumbled out of the bathroom. He was covered in her blood and just, he had this look in his eyes.”

“What kind of look?”

“He looked afraid…lost.”

“Maybe he was afraid of disappointing you.”

“Maybe, I don’t know.”

“How long did it take for you to get over April’s death?”

“Honestly, I don’t think I ever really will. I just, I kinda just don’t think about it anymore. Thinking about it all the time can’t be healthy, right?”

“Well, how long was it before you became involved with Mimi?”

“Seriously involved, umm…six months and a year.”

“How long has it been since you were with Mimi?”

“Umm…about a year.”

“When did Mark tell you of his feelings?”

“About a month ago.”

“How long ago was the riot?”

“It was last week.”

“And how did you feel when you saw him attacked at the riot.”

“Scared out of my mind. Wait…what?”

Dr. Mueller couldn’t help but grin as Roger’s expression floated into her head. It always made her a bit giddy when she caught someone like that. “Why were you frightened?”

“Ummm, well, I guess I was afraid of losing him.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean why? He’s Mark. He’s the one to survive. He’s not allowed to go before me.”

“Why not?”

“Because, I don’t think I could live without him.”

“Honestly, Mr. Davis, could I tell you something, as a person who wants to help you, not as a government appointed therapist?”

“Uh, yeah, sure.”

“Your reason for pushing Mark away is seeming less and less like a reason and more like an excuse.”

Yet another sigh could be heard from the young man. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“I’m sorry, could you say that again clearly for the tape.”

“Very funny.”

“Well, legally our time is up and I can’t hold you hear anymore.”

“Thank God.”

“Although, Mr. Davis, I hope something good comes out of this session.”

“I think there will be.”

“Good. You can go now.”

“Do I, like, need to say anything for the tape?”

“No, you can just go. Good luck.”

Roger’s deep breath echoed loudly as he walked by the tape recorder. “Thanks, I’m going to need it.”

Dr. Mueller leaned forward, shutting the tape off and pressing rewind. She listened to the soft whirring of the machine, turning around to let her eyes wander over the faces of her patients that filled her bookshelf. She smiled as her eyes fell on one particular picture of two young men in Times Square. The taller one had soft blonde hair blowing in the wind, a slick black leather jacket, and eyes glittering with happiness. His arms were wrapped around a smaller man with light blonde hair, a navy and white scarf, and thick dark glasses. The smaller man was slightly turned away and laughing while the taller was leaning in, pressing their cheeks together and smiling at the camera. In the corner, in messy handwriting, it read: “Thanks Dr. Mueller. No more excuses. –Roger”

“Um, Dr. Mueller, the police just called.” Dr. Mueller turned around, seeing her secretary in her doorway.

“And?”

“They have another person with anger management issues.”

“I’ll pencil them in for Wednesday at 1:00. What’s their name?”

“Um, a Benjamin Coffin the Third.”

“Ok. Thanks Suzie.”

Her secretary shut the door softly as Dr. Mueller wrote in her address book. Glancing back at the photo she thought, “Maybe retirement can wait just a little bit longer.”  


 

 


End file.
